


We're Left Outside

by ratbat



Category: Gorillaz, Original Work
Genre: 1970s, Abuse, Angst, Best Friends, Familial Abuse, Friends With Benefits, Full homo no romo, Graphic Violence, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, Physical Abuse, Protectiveness, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Side Character-centric, Slurs, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-10 15:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19908070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratbat/pseuds/ratbat
Summary: There's few things more terrifying than your family turning on you, but good friends can help you pick up the pieces.





	We're Left Outside

Hannibal felt the ground hit him before it registered at all he'd been thrown to it. He opened his eyes to the sight of Vinny's dark hair crushed beneath his head into the wet ground beneath them. A small, dark smattering of his blood painted the stones, and glistened in the pale light of the street lamp.

" _Bloody fuckin' faggots_!" There was the sound of the bat accosting the pavement across from them. "Stay the _bloody fuck_ away from my _bloody house_!"

Hannibal brought himself to his feet, the uneven edge of the street digging into his heels.

“You can get _fuckin' bent_ you bloody old fuckin' _breeder cunt_!” Hannibal screamed. “You’ll suck _cock_ in _hell_ soon enough!”

Vince’s dad lunged in their direction.

Hannibal skittered back, pulling Vince off the street and around behind him. Vince stumbled backward onto the ground.

His dad didn’t stray far from his house, not far enough to get to them in the light of the next flickering street lamp. Maybe didn’t want to continue it all in public. Bloody coward.

“I see your fuckin' faces ‘round here again I’ll _bash ‘em in!_ ” He snarled. 

Hannibal growled, but he managed to shut his mouth. Vinny couldn’t very well run in this state. There was no sense in digging them both into a further scrap.

Vince’s dad seemed satisfied with the distance they were keeping. He took himself and the bat back into the house, slamming the door shut.

Hannibal felt the rage still shaking him. His eyes stayed locked with the door, all his hatred and fury buzzing through him and outwards towards that fucking vile house and the fucking vile occupant within it. It met with solid stone and wood, cold and unmoving no matter how hard he willed otherwise. He felt his lip curling over his teeth and his ragged breath clawing out of him.

He heard a quiet sob, breaking him out of his seething trance. He looked down and there was Vinny, sitting on the cobblestone, his naked and bruised body curled into itself. His hands were on his mouth and he gasped through them, the tears sliding down his face. His eyes were settled as well on the threshold of the house. Of what used to be _his_ house. He was shaking too. Shaking and shaking.

He buried his face in his hands and let out some heaving, broken cry.

Hannibal kneeled down. “Hey now, Vinny, it’s alright, it’ll be alright, c’mon now...”

Vince said nothing, still weeping, a slowly deadening expression on his face as his eyes stayed fixed on the door, soft cries breaking from him.

Hannibal ran his hand over his shoulder, drawing him close. “it’ll be alright, we’ll get you outta here, things are gonna be alright…”  
  
Hannibal tried to take stock of the situation, to prioritize. He wanted to comfort Vince and get him dressed, but maybe now wasn’t the time. He saw outlines of people behind parted drapes, eyes wandering from the nearby windows in the dark. Him and Vince were extremely vulnerable out here, and the street lights washing over them made him feel increasingly so. 

Hannibal also knew the only thing between them and Vince’s father and that fucking baseball bat was that wretched door, a turn of a lock and a turn of disposition.

No, he decided, better to focus on being somewhere else, somewhere _safe_ , as quickly as possible.

“C’mon Vinny, let’s get the hell outta here.” Hannibal pulled him from the ground. “Up you go, that’s it…”  
  
Vinny didn’t react much, still crying, staring off into nothing. He wobbled on his feet, some part of it distress and adrenaline Hannibal was sure, but another part was probably his wounds and Hannibal was afraid of what that might mean.

Hannibal pulled one of his arms out of the sleeve of his big, spiked leather jacket and wrapped that side around Vinny, in some futile attempt to shield him and keep him warm. Vinny curled up into his side.

The night was cold. Bitterly cold. Like it was trying to punish them. It was wet out too. Hannibal felt his socks begin to soak. Vince shivered and shivered and he couldn’t seem to stop. He had a lot of trouble staying upright and Hannibal had to bear most of his weight.

As they stumbled through the streets, all at once Vince started shuddering violently and sobbing, and then the sobs turned into broken wails, like he just couldn’t contain what was inside of him.

“ _Shhhhshhhshhh_ keep it down now,” Hannibal whispered softly, pulling him in close. “Don’t wanna attracted any more attention to ourselves right now, alright?”

Vince didn’t respond, but he did start crying more softly again.

Barely anyone was out. It was too late in the night for that. There were a few people about, drifting and collecting here and there. Some of them threw looks their way, but Hannibal threw some right back, and kept Vinny close. Vinny seemed intent on making himself small, shrinking behind Hannibal’s larger silhouette, and though it struck through his solid stone heart, Hannibal knew that was probably for the best.

Finally, Hannibal found a little secluded space tucked behind a church. There was a snide comment and a curse on his tongue but he swallowed them, glaring silently at the steeple like it’d been the very implement driven into Vince’s flesh.

He leaned Vince against a stone wall, slipping off his jacket and wrapping it around him. There were some wooden milk crates nearby alongside some other discarded trash, and Hannibal tested the sturdiness of one before pulling it under his friend. Vince sunk down on top of it, giving a soft pained moan, his legs trembling. He curled up, pulling the jacket around himself, still shivering.

Hannibal surveyed the damage he could see. Vince had bruises in a variety of shapes all over his body. A swollen shut eye, a split lip, blood around his nose. Blood coming from his head. A patch of his hair missing. Bruises and bruises on his sides and legs. He looked very, very small.

Hannibal’s jaw set, until he thought it might crack his teeth. His breath hitched, his hand curled into a fist.

“Shoulda killed that fuckin' bastard.” He hissed.

“Glad you didn’t.” Vince whispered suddenly. “He’s my dad after all.”

“He coulda _killed_ you, Vinny!” Hannibal snapped. “He lost the right to be called your _father_ when he took a bloody _bat_ to your bloody _fuckin’ head_!”

Vince pursed his lip, his eyes on the ground. “…didn’t think you’d feel that way an all. Thought you got it. Y’know.”

Neither of them said it. But they both knew what Vince meant.

Hannibal dropped the subject. It wasn’t important right now anyway.

Hannibal and his stupid hot temper and his stupid empty head. Not important at all. Not helpful either.

He sighed. “Let’s just…let’s just figure all this out.”  
  
He kneeled down a bit and lifted Vince’s curled arms. Vince flinched, but he obliged.

His ribs were bruising up nice. He probably had some sprained or broken ones. Hannibal could see marks left by the bat and the familiar outline of belt and buckle impressions and he closed his eyes, swallowing his rage.

“Your legs hurt?” He asked.

Vince laughed softly. “Everythin’ hurts.”

Hannibal glanced over them. Nothing major was bleeding from what he could see.

He stood, and started taking off his trousers.

Vince flinched at the sound of the buckle clicking and sympathy twisted inside Hannibal’s chest. But he kept it to himself.

Vince lifted his head to see what he was up to after a moment.

“Wh…bloody hell’re you doin’, Hans?”

Hannibal scoffed. “What’s it look like.”

Vince laughed, though it was raspy and hollow. “Fine time for a shag...”

Hannibal managed to scoff, and it almost had real, jovial sarcasm behind it. He pulled his trousers off over his wet socks and approached Vince, who braced himself again.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you.” Hannibal said, though he knew that wasn’t the problem. That it was _never_ the problem, and frankly he hated to hear it himself, no matter who was saying it. But he said it anyway. “I’d tell ya not to be daft, but I think for you that’d be impossible.”

Vince snorted softly. It had a little bit of cheer in it. That was a start.

Hannibal crouched down and started pulling the trousers up over Vince’s ankles. He went stiff. “…what’re you doin’?” he repeated.

“Like I said before, what’s it bloody look like?” Hannibal scoffed again. “Did yer dad knock yer eyes an yer brain clean outta yer skull or what?”

Vince looked like he couldn’t quite process it. By the time he spoke again Hannibal was already lifting him up a bit and pulling his trousers over his hips. “…well…you…you don’t _'ave_ _to…_ ”  
  
“yeah, well it’s bloody freezin’ out here.” Hannibal grunted. “And ‘sides, I ain’t gonna let ya run around all night with your cock out. What kinda bastard would I be?”

“…a randy one maybe?” Vince said, a bit of mischief in his voice. 

“Oh well, that can’t be helped.” Hannibal lowered Vince back down on the crate and buttoned up his trousers.

“There. Bit big on you, but it ain’t my fault your arse is so damn skinny.” He pulled the belt tight, down to it’s last notch. “Sorry ‘bout all the tears in these rags, but it’s better than the buff, right?”

Vince looked up at him. “But what’re _you_ gonna wear then?”

Hannibal gestured to his pants, grinning. “You’re lookin at it, mate.”

Vince paused. “That’s it? But you said yourself, it’s soddin’ freezin’ tonight!”

“Yeah but you see, it matches me heart and me blood.” Hannibal laughed. “Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ll live.” His grin widened. “Don’t really have any workin’ nerves left in my skin. Little cold won’t barely make a dent.”

Vince scoffed. His gaze wandered back to the ground. He sniffled, tears seeming to threaten again.

Hannibal reached over, careful to move slowly. He took his scarf out of his jacket pocket and wrapped it around Vinny’s neck. “There we go. Almost look dressed now.”

Vince ran his fingers over the scarf. “But this is your favorite.”

“Well keep it nice then. Or else…” he stopped. Threatening a beating seemed in poor taste right now, even as a joke, even for him. “Well, just try not to ruin it, how’s that?”

Vince nodded, pulling the jacket further over his bare chest. “Fuck, couldn’t close this if I wanted…what is all this…rubbish…” he knocked against something made of metal on one side of the lining. “What kinda shit you got in these bloody pockets anyhow?”

Hannibal laughed. “Don’t think you wanna know, duck.” He bit his lip. “Look after that too though. Gonna need a lot of that shit for later.”

Vince nodded again.

Hannibal wanted to shiver, the cold already starting to sink into him, but he did his best to still himself. He didn’t want Vince worrying about any of that sort of nonsense right now.

“Alright. Well. Suppose we oughta get goin’ then.”

He took a step and suddenly felt a chill on his feet. He glanced down. Ah yes. His socks. That drew a little shiver from him.

“ _Naff, soddin’_ …” He reached down and pulled off his socks, and pitched them somewhere into the dark. “get stuffed ya little buggers!” he choked out a laugh.

Vince did too. And then the laugh turned, and he was crying all over again. 


End file.
